


Starman

by susiephalange



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, Closure, Creative License, Episode: s04e18 The End of Time (2), F/M, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Multi, Outer Space, Regeneration, Time Travel, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 18:09:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10668015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: If you both hadn't been fussing over era-appropriate clothing or the fact that Doctor had no idea why you'd want to talk about immunology when the pair of you were in pre-Beatles England, you might have noticed. If you'd noticed the little boy with the scruffy mop-top hair, then all what happened next wouldn't have happened. If you'd noticed, you'd probably have locked the TARDIS behind you.Or, the Doctor and Reader whisk away a twelve year old named David into outer space. On accident.





	Starman

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if this sort of fic has been written before? If it has, I'm so sorry! I had a dream a couple of weeks ago after bingeing most of the episodes lately (currently up to season 8!) and I realised, that in all his time of being alive, David Bowie, my favourite singer had never been featured on _Doctor Who_. I mean, if Vincent Van Gough can, then Bowie should! 
> 
> I did a hella lot of research to write this, figuring out time lines and everything, so I hope you like it! Ooh, and I tried to make it neutral, so readers of all genders can appreciate it, and there isn't much of a relationship really going on...there just isn't tags to say that. 
> 
> And in this fic, you're just a companion - like you've always dreamed of being!

You were never a good traveller. Maybe it was because of that time your family went to the seaside and forgot you on the trip home and left you with the gulls for eight hours. That had been borderline traumatic. Or maybe it was because that you couldn't tear yourself away from your little town and little life and all that you lived and loved. That ... was unfortunate. But that was until at the little shop you worked at in the hospital you came across a very sad-looking man wearing sand shoes and a long coat, and he whisked you away into the heavens above to see the stars. 

But things don't change that drastically. The man who you met, an alien named the Doctor, took you all over the world, and worlds you could only dream of both far and near in his magic box. A box so magic, it was able to go forwards, and backwards and more ways in time and space that you could ever imagine. In fact, when the fact _things don't change drastically_ is waved about, it should mean you, in particular. You couldn't just magically make souffle without reading a recipe - and being in the TARDIS didn't change that you were never a good traveller.

You'd heard many stories of the other people who had come into the blue box - of the girls who grew into their strong words, of those who adapted to survive under circumstance, of the lady he'd met, with fire in her breath and fear in her eyes. And then, there was you. Born to work, working to live, living to survive, surviving until the day you died. But then Doctor came along and broke that cycle, did't he. 

He had a good habit of getting in the way of bad things. 

All you'd done is started a debate with Doctor, going around time and space without proper vaccinations because of space diseases and such. Without much of a thought, the TARDIS had landed, and keeping the ball rolling, the conversation kept going as the pair of you walked down the lane-way where you parked the big blue box. All you knew was the little screen was reading figures of South London in mid-August 1959. 

If you both hadn't been fussing over era-appropriate clothing or the fact that Doctor had no idea why you'd want to talk about immunology when the pair of you were in pre-Beatles England, you might have noticed. If you'd noticed the little boy with the scruffy mop-top hair, then all what happened next wouldn't have happened. If you'd noticed, you'd probably have locked the TARDIS behind you. 

Dressed in his usual sweeping coat, you'd picked out something a little more era-appropriate - a knee-length (f/c) Peter-Pan collared shirt with matching flat shoes - and off you went. But things were running awry fast, and the alien of the week causing mayhem upon the soil of Britain was soon quelled with the both of your help, and before you knew it, the day was saved, and the Queen of England had given you a written letter to pass on to the next monarch after her (to which, you didn't want to tell her that in 2017, it was still her). And like any other day, the Doctor and you returned to the police telephone box, and went off to who knew where. 

But this time, when the pair of you landed on the largest moon of Saturn, and heard the vague sound of retching from somewhere within the console room of the TARDIS. Sharing a glance between the two of you, the pair of you advanced the opposite way to the door, and there, sitting with head between knees underneath the walking area, was a young boy with mop-like hair, with a pile of sick at his feet.

"I don't think we've met, I'm The Doctor," Doctor introduced, poking his head over the railing, looking at the young boy. "What are you doing in my TARDIS?" 

You interject, and swiftly, jump down to the same level where he is. "That's not what he meant to say, sorry, sometimes his mouth moves too fast for his brain to catch up, or the opposite." You put a hand on his shoulder, feeling the poor guy shaking. "What's your name ... erm, are you alright?"

He shakes his head, wiping his hand over his mouth. "I didn't - I was just trying to get away from them. I'm sorry I came in, it's just ... I'm David. David Jones." He offers you his hand, but it's the one which had wiped his mouth, and he put it back. 

"It's nice to meet you, David." You smile, and glancing up, you see Doctor moving down to see the stow-away he had just whisked away from 1959. "So, David, do you need anything, a drink of water?" you wonder. There's just something about this boy that makes you want to keep him safe, or at least, do your best to make sure he's okay. 

"You're not angry at me?" He frowns. "I -,"

You shake your head, but it's Doctor who speaks, having come down to see the boy close up. "So, David Jones, from England 1959. What's so special about you? What did you do to end up being here at this time, this place?" He asks him, squatting down, and squinting, taking in the sick and pale face of little David Jones. "You're about twelve, or thirteen, aren't you?" He asks.

David nods, eyes down. "Twelve, sir. Sorry, sir."

Doctor shakes his head, giving his big grin. "No need to call me sir, Jones. Just Doctor. So, you said you had to get away from them? Who were they?" You could tell from Doctor's voice that he was hoping that little David had seen an alien or something he really shouldn't have, but what came next 

David shook his head, "I was in a fight, with John and Kenneth Wilson. They took my tape, the one father brought home, with Mr. Elvis Presley on it. I think I broke his nose, and then John was chasing me, and I -," he took a deep breath, "I thought I could hide in here. "

You nod. "Did you get it?" Sensing his confusion, you add, "the tape. The one they took."

A small smile formed, along with an affirmative nod. But at that moment, there was a groan, and a _thud_ and the TARDIS shook, and slowly settled. From your knowledge of being around the Doctor, and generally being off-planet, and around time and space, if anything made the little blue box sway where it was standing, it was a very not good thing at all.

Falling onto your bum, you cuss, "You didn't say Titan had fault lines, Doctor," you complain, glad that you didn't bash your head against the round things on the wall. 

He shook his head. "There aren't any fault likes on Titan."

David stilled. "What's Titan?"

But at this, you were up, and helping both the boys before you to their feet, and rushing to the screen to take in the external readings. It was a good thing that the pair of you didn't rush outside like you did often enough - from the screen, it said the temperatures outside were well below sub zero, and you had landed outside of a settlement, which if you were three metres to the left, would be situated inside of their life support systems. But from what you could see on the sonar, you were glad that you were not. 

"Doctor, there are life forms approaching us, and they do not look friendly!" you shout. 

If you knew how to fly the TARDIS _,_ you would have flown the three of you right away from that then and there. But you didn't, and you were at the mercy of his lace-up shoes and that flappy coat of his that sometimes got in the way of his running skills. At once, he was at the console, and for the first time in ages, instead of deciding to go outside and make friends with the strange creatures, he was off, and the familiar de-materialisation noise filled the console room. 

"How about I take you to the nice and harmless Ood Sphere?" He thought aloud, as he often did. "After Donna and I solved their enslavement problems, I tend to go back there a bit to check out their progress. And," he added, twirling a dial until it lit up with a purple light, "Ood Sigma has a great singing voice - great for quelling near-death experience fears."

At the sound of landing, you turned to David, and squeezed his hand. "You're probably scared witless, aren't you?" you ask the poor boy. 

He doesn't say anything for a moment, but when he does, he looks at the Doctor. "Do you have, a bathroom in here?"

He nods, pointing down to the stairs, with the exit into the rest of the TARDIS. "Ah! Yes. Yes we do. First right, second left ... past the macaroon dispenser."

* * *

 

By the time little David is done, and all cleaned up from the ordeal of being whisked away across space and time, all of you have geared up for a nicer cold atmosphere, and are on the way down to the Ood society in their ice buildings. You'd been here once before, back when you had been on the first ride into space and time, and you had to say, you had a fondness for the soft and caring culture of the Ood. 

"Why did you take us here, Doctor?" you ask him. 

You know he does like to show off, especially around people he doesn't know, but this young boy beside you wearing a coat fit for someone twice his size from the streets of London isn't anyone like Maggie Smith or J. K. Rowling. Or is he? You've spent all your life in that little town and the shop in the hospital. For all you knew, there could have been an innovator or a technician who influenced the world named David Jones. 

He turns to David. "We're in space, David." he tells him, pointing out to the civilisation below where the Ood live and breathe and sing. "For someone your age, I bet this is the farthest you've been from home. The Horseshoe Galaxy, David - across the other end of the universe, somewhere further than anyone in the 20th century could ever imagine to be ..." 

" _Press your space face close to mine, love -,_ " You're not really sure why, but with all of the Ood singing their song below, you can't help but remember a song that always used to play in the hospital, and humming, you recall the lyrics aloud. " _Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah!_ " 

It's then you realise.

David Jones.  _David Bowie_.

The Doctor shares with you a soft smile through the hood of his thick coat, and gestures to the little blue box that is nestled in amongst the snow not too far away. "I think it's time we got you home, now, David, yeah?" He asks the young lad, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

You know it's a long time since he's been this close to anyone, let alone a sort of father figure at all, and seeing the both of them walk back to the TARDIS, you can't help but feel a pull inside of you. You were young - but he was not. And seeing him there with the little David Bowie-to-be, you couldn't help but wonder if _this_ was what spurred the super singer with the fascination with outer space, and that if you'd ever be bold enough to realise that you were into Doctor ... and he you. But that was the thing - poor Martha had to leave from the pain of not being loved back. 

You could only hope it didn't reach that far. 

It's not ten minutes later that you've delivered the twelve year old David Jones back to South London in mid-August 1959, on the same day he was gone from, and you're once again left alone in the blue box with the man with the stick-up hair. You haven't taken off or anything - the both of you are just sitting around in 1959, waiting for either one of you to speak up and hit the controls to whiz off into space. 

"I didn't tell you, but after I met Donna, I met a man named Wilf," Doctor bites his tongue, and taking shallow breaths, he adds, "He was a soldier, once, and looked like he'd seen the war with his two eyes and was haunted until the ends of time." 

You cock your head. "This man sounds a little like you," you hum, crossing your arms. "I suppose you learned something from Wilf, didn't you?" you ask Doctor, raising one of your brows in a quizzical manner. 

Doctor nodded. "He was worried about dying, he'd seen the world in his little human head, and he was an old man, but I'm nine hundred and nine years old, _________ - I'm a Time Lord and I've seen the Devil and black holes and the time vortex itself. I saved Wilfred Mott - and for three years, I've been stubborn." He turns away from you, not looking into your eyes. "I don't want to go," he adds, voice crackling.

You frown. "You've been with me, for three years," you think aloud. 

He doesn't respond. 

"What do you mean, go? Are you going to die?" You ask, and reaching out to turn the Doctor to see, his eyes, you feel your voice wobble. "Don't die, Doctor." 

He shakes his head. "It's not dying, so much as changing. Everything about myself, but the brain. Sometimes, the brain too. I have to regenerate, and I've been stifling it for so long, I just ..." he looks to his hands, as a tear falls onto them. "Rose held these hands, not the next one's." His chin wobbles, and at once, you feel yourself hugging him, keeping him from sliding into the floor and all over the walls in a puddle of emotions. 

Righting him, he stands, leaning on the consoles of the TARDIS, his head bowed. But then you have to rush back, skittering away from the golden energy that bursts from his skin, from under his skull, from his fingers. Shielding your eyes, you try to see, and try to avoid it going into your eyes, but there are fires growing inside, and you can't help but choke on the smoke that's building up. 

"Doctor?" you call out, voice thick, dry from the heat.

But the man before you that had the stick-up hair and those brown eyes is not there. Those eyes are greenish, sort of halfway between green and brown, and a long sort of fringe of hair that falls over his eyes, and at once, he's bouncing around the place like his hearts have restarted all of a sudden.

"________?" He asks, pushing the hair out of his eyes. "Did little David get out? Can't remember if he got out alright, oh, we'd screw up history if there was no Bowie, because if there was no Bowie, then rock and roll wouldn't roll any stones, and -," 

You place a hand over his mouth, and stare into his eyes. "You didn't kill David Bowie, Starman." 

You were never a good traveller. Maybe it was because once you were out of the house and gone you didn't really want to come back, and when you did, you found reasons to keep on going further, and further and further still. Damn the seaside trip, you were a child, and you'd seen the heavens above and seen creatures the people you called family could only dream up. You weren't sure if you'd ever go back to working in that little shop in the hospital, you weren't sure if you'd one day die in space from all of the escapades. That was the greatness of running in your present through the past and future - anything could happen. 

Oh yeah, you were never a good traveller. But you had a Doctor on standby.  

_There's a starman waiting in the sky_

_He'd like to come and meet us_

_But he thinks he'd blow our minds_

**Author's Note:**

> The David Bowie lyrics I used in the song are from [Moonage Daydream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7zaBCbXUkeU), and [Starman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PlMi0nq3fCs), both of which are favourites of mine. 
> 
> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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